


All That's Frail Between Smoke and Light

by garrisonbabe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Demon Deals, Demon Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrisonbabe/pseuds/garrisonbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been dead two weeks, and in that two weeks he hasn't seen Cas once. He doesn't really think anything of it until he goes to talk with Cain.</p>
<p>
  <i>"That angel of yours is a walking natural disaster when you’re alive. The angels know Metatron killed you, so where are the explosions we were all promised?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Frail Between Smoke and Light

**Author's Note:**

> for a lovely follower of mine [wherephantomssleep](http://wherephantomssleep.tumblr.com/)
> 
> she gave me this prompt: First kiss. Canon-compliant, post 9x23. I like Demon!Dean and I have some semi-angry feels that Cas didn't come looking for him after Metatron's pronouncement.
> 
> i hope i did it justice, friend!

Demons were liars, some of the best. They ran the world on a few honeyed words and loaded glances. Dean used to think that was just how politics was supposed to work, but now he knew better.

For all that demons were liars, for all that Dean was now a demon, he was being more honest with himself than he ever had been. Maybe it was the way his entire world got tilted a few degrees to the left, or the fact that he could see people’s souls, but lying to himself wasn’t as fun as it used to be. It used to have a purpose when he was human. A defense mechanism, he supposed.

Who could blame him? He grew up in a society that preached the value of good morals with its fingers and toes crossed. Crowley told him he was being melodramatic. Dean told him to fuck off and check on Hell.

They were on even ground, now.

With this newfound sense of honesty came something he was already familiar with: anger. Looking back at his childhood, at Sammy’s childhood, he could admit to himself that covering for his dad was just a way to keep from destroying anything that ever had to do with him. Not that it would do a whole lot of good now, though, what with his dad being dead for going on eight years. Still… it was a necessary step, allowing himself to feel anger on his own behalf without excusing it. He didn’t know where he was going with it, but it wouldn’t take too long to figure it out.

One of his first stops was to see Cain. For what it was worth, Cain wasn’t surprised at all to see Dean’s new eyes.

“I tried to warn you.” He filled a bowl with some soup and offered it to Dean. “If this is my last meal, I would enjoy some company.”

Dean nodded and sat down, unsure of how he felt about killing Cain. “You did try to warn me. I just didn’t give you the chance.”

Cain raised an eyebrow. “Is that regret I hear?”

A soft grin was Dean’s reply. There was no regret, not for this.

They were halfway through their meal when Cain spoke again. “Have you seen that angel of yours recently?”

“Since I died? Nah, haven’t heard from him.” Dean gripped his spoon tighter, and suddenly he knew where the threads of his honesty and anger were leading.

Two weeks, and he’d heard more from Sam than he had from Cas. Granted, he’d opened himself up to Sam’s questions, texting his little brother and saying _don’t look, I’ll come find you_. He didn’t really expect Sammy to just take that lying down.

Cas, though. Cas was something else. If Dean thought cell phones worked in Heaven, maybe he’d have tried calling. He didn’t know if praying would still work. Kind of needed a soul for it, and he didn’t have one anymore.

Cain glanced at him. “It’s unusual, isn’t it?”

Dean shrugged. “Not really. Cas pulls disappearing acts all the time.”

“Not when you’re dead.”

Dean set his spoon down and sat straighter in his chair. “What would you know about it?”

Cain shrugged casually, as if he didn’t care. “I just know what I’ve heard through demon chatter. That angel of yours is a walking natural disaster when you’re _alive_. The angels know Metatron killed you, so where are the explosions we were all promised?”

Dean pushed his bowl forward and finished off the beer Cain had given him. “Finish eating, and you’ll get yours.”

Cain smiled, eating a little faster than before. “I’ll show you how to use your power, then you can kill me.”

Learning to use his power included learning how to pull people to his location, or send them somewhere else. Crowley had taught him how to teleport easy enough, but they hadn’t had time for more in-depth lessons. Cain was a good teacher, and he was more familiar with Dean’s power than Crowley.

The Mark was more intelligent than the standard demonic corruption. It knew them, was tied to them, amplified their personalities and emotions a thousand times. Like Azazel’s blood in Sam’s veins, it used pieces of them that already existed to build their power, to tempt them into doing things that came so naturally.

Dean buried Cain next to Colette. He didn’t use his power, just a shovel and the skills for grave digging that hunting had required and honed. Plus, the time he spent digging have him time to think about Cas.

Cain was right, in a way. Any other time Dean had died, Cas searched for him. When Sam was gone, Cas risked his neck by going into the Cage to try and get him out. So where the hell was he now? Sammy would’ve mentioned Cas if there’d been word from him, Dean thought. Maybe used it as a guilt-trip to get him home so they could try to fix him. They did know how to cure demons, after all.

Somehow he didn’t think it would be that simple with the Mark.

Maybe if Cas had actually tried to contact him, they could talk about it. Well, if Cas wasn’t coming to him willingly, Dean could always just drag him down for a nice chat.

Cain made Abaddon and the other knights; he was their general. He’d passed on the mark so that job, that power, was Dean’s now. What that meant outside of being an uber badass demon, he didn’t really know or care. But it did mean that he had a natural affinity for spellwork. Summonings were a simple matter, and even without wings, Cas was there.

The landing looked a little rough, or maybe that was just his stolen Grace going out. Either way, Dean had seen Cas in much better shape.

There was sadness in Cas’ eyes when he looked at Dean. It didn’t help the anger Dean was already feeling. “So, Cas, what have you been up to? You know what I’ve been doing? Dying. Becoming a demon. Killing Cain. Wondering why the fuck I haven’t heard from you.”

Cas looked down toward the floor. Under his skin Dean could see pure, blue-white light. There were shapes inside the light, faces and flashes, but they didn’t look right. That made sense, though. Stolen Grace. Dean took a second for himself to wish that he could have seen Cas at full power, when his true form fit into his vessel’s skin perfectly. He realized he hadn’t even seen himself yet. Two weeks, and he’d yet to look in a mirror.

“You gonna say anything, or just look sad and hope I take pity on you?” Dean stepped into Cas’ personal space, crossing his arms and clenching his teeth.

Cas met his eyes briefly, then shook his head with a resigned sigh. “I should have been there.”

“Been where?”

“With you. I should have known something was wrong the moment we got back to the bunker. I should have stopped this.” The shapes under Cas’ skin were writhing, one large mass in deafening pain.

Dean let his arms fall to his sides, observing Cas for a moment more. He looked smaller than he used to. More tired than he ever did as a human. “Yeah? What would you have done? Gadreel—”

“I would have done _something_.” Cas stood straighter, some anger of his own hardening his eyes as he looked at Dean. “I didn’t risk my life to drag you out of Hell just to watch this happen to you!”

“You’re right. You dragged me out of Hell because you were on orders.” Dean got closer to Cas, bearing down on him where he stood in front of a hotel dresser. “So, what? You had orders not to come down here? Thought everyone up there named you club president.”

Cas scoffed. “This may be a hard concept for you to grasp, Dean, but I was mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“Yes, mourning. The man I loved most died. Metatron told me he killed you, and every angel I spoke to confirmed it. Do forgive me for not wanting to be forced to see your bloodied corpse!” Cas pushed past him and walked further into the room, sitting on the end of a ratty bed.

“Don’t know if you noticed, Cas, but the man you love is alive and in front of you asking you where the hell you’ve been for the past two weeks.” Dean looked at a chair on the other side of the room and pulled it to him with a thought.

He sat in front of Cas, leaning back with his arms crossed again.

Cas rubbed his forehead, entire face pinched in pain. “You’re not alive, Dean, you’re a demon.”

“Oh, and you’re too good for demons now? Seemed just fine with Meg.” An old bitter jealousy he’d buried came flooding back to the surface, fueling the anger he already felt.

“Meg was my friend—”

“She was in love with you!” Dean said it louder than he’d intended, and with more force.

Cas looked at him for a moment, just watching him with a soft squint. “I didn’t think it bothered you that much.”

There was no mockery in his voice, just a softness and a curiosity that Dean refused to admit he missed.

He looked away with a shake of his head. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot.”

Cas nodded with a slight smirk. “You’ve said so many times.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, just sat in the dingy hotel room and listened to the near silence of it.

Cas broke the silence first. “I’m sorry I didn’t come find you.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“It may sound stupid, but I wasn’t sure it would still be you.” Cas fidgeted with his hands, clearly uncomfortable. “The Mark was strong enough to turn both you and Cain into demons without the torture Hell requires. It has an intelligence in the way it changes someone.”

Dean looked at the mark on his right arm. “You didn’t think I’d still be here under it.”

Cas nodded. “I couldn’t lose you twice, Dean.”

As hard as Dean was trying to cling to his anger, he couldn’t. Two exceptions his whole life, and Cas was one of them. He reached forward and took Cas’ hands in his own. “You didn’t. I’m still me.”

There was an uncertainty in Cas’ eyes. The light under his skin made soft ringing noises like it was singing, but Dean didn’t think there was supposed to be so much agony in it. Not all of it was emotional. There was physical pain that Cas was trying to hide.

Dean leaned in a bit closer to Cas, getting a better look at the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in his skin. A few spots looked like they were being burned through, just under his hairline.

“How long do you have before this Grace burns out?” He turned Cas’ hands over, finding more burns on the undersides of his wrists.

“If I’m lucky, a few more weeks.” He sounded fine about it, accepting.

“And if you’re not lucky?”

“Days, maybe.”

Dean looked back up at Cas’ face with a frown, then got up and sat beside Cas on the bed. If he looked closely he could see something faint in the air where there might have been a halo once.

Cas turned and looked at him, actually _looked_ at him this time. “It seems wrong that you should still look like yourself.”

“For what it’s worth, I never even saw your true form, and I can still tell you look like shit.” Dean smirked, leaning in and bumping their shoulders together.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Dean laughed softly. “You’re welcome.”

The space between them felt warmer, the air a little closer to their skin. Dean looked over at Cas and watched as blue eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up. He cupped the side of Cas’ face, surprised at how hot he was to the touch. It made sense, Grace burning its way out and all that.

He leaned in and Cas met him halfway. It was such a chaste kiss, just their lips pressed together softly. The feeling of it made the mark on Dean’s right arm throb.

When he opened his eyes again Cas gasped. He hadn’t meant to let them turn, but he didn’t really care anyway.

He rested their foreheads together, his lips brushing Cas’ as they spoke. “Tell me you want your own Grace back.”

Cas reached out and cupped the back of Dean’s head, his other hand clutching Dean’s forearm. “I don’t have a soul to sell, Dean.”

“Doesn’t matter. Tell me you want your own Grace back.” He knew this was the opposite of most demon deals, him panting in Cas’ mouth after they’d already kissed and practically begging to sell something for nothing.

Cas hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I do want my own Grace back.”

Dean kissed him again, nothing chaste in the action this time. Cas opened his mouth first, inviting Dean’s tongue and Dean’s offer.

Keeping with the new habit of being honest with himself, Dean could admit that this felt so much more like their first kiss.

 


End file.
